


Cleanse

by Frangipanidownunder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-27 08:55:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16215707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frangipanidownunder/pseuds/Frangipanidownunder
Summary: Post ep for Milagro.





	Cleanse

He holds the white blouse, tries to open it up but the drying stain has made the fabric stiff so it peels apart slowly. It’s horrific. Her blood over the yoke. Her life wicked out like an inkblot, mocking the psychologist in him with its indeterminate shape. Was it a bat? Or a human skull? An animal hide?

When he blinks all he sees is a heart.

He soaks it in the cold water. Protein sets in warm water. He knows this, perhaps from something his mother told him. Or maybe from Scully on some winding winter road at the deathknell of a case. He can almost hear her voice in the plunge of the water, offering him tidbits of trivia that stick in the folds of his mind. The water turns brown and as he scrubs that fabric on itself he sees how his skin picks up the stain. Her blood soaks over his hand and he lifts it from the sink watching the lines on his palm fill with dark cinnamon.

There aren’t enough clothes in his laundry basket to do a wash so he strips the bed linen. If she’s going to stay a few nights, it’s probably for the best. He sets the machine, finds the detergent, watches the water swirl against the glass door. It’s hypnotising and he feels his eyes droop. Sleep, he imagines, will be punctuated by the coppery smell of her dying, by the sharp intake of her breath when she opened her eyes, by the particular note of fear in her crying. Best to try and rest now, before she wakes up.

The clothes are mangled around the sheet and the clump falls with a thud into the basket. He finds her blouse and it’s cold and crinkled. He opens it out but the stain is still there, marring the perfect whiteness. He drops it onto the pile and scratches at his head. It’s such a small thing to be able to offer her. To do her laundry. But maybe she won’t ever want to wear the shirt again. Maybe he should just throw it out. Or is that making a decision for her? He shouldn’t do that. He shouldn’t take over. He needs to learn to pull back, to let her be. Scully knows her own mind. What’s in her heart.

He sinks back against the wall, feeling his shirt and hair catch on the rough brickwork.

The door opens and Scully walks in. She’s wearing an old pair of track pants and a baggy sweatshirt that she left at his during her cancer. She’s holding a paper bag and she sets it on the counter next to him.

“You went out, Scully?”

“Just down the road,” she says. “Picked up some things for the laundry.” She takes out boxes and bottles and a small mixing bowl. Her eyes wander to her ruined shirt. “It’s a Karen Millen blouse that I love the feel of, you know? One of those items of clothing that just makes you feel stronger, like you can do anything, when you wear it.” She huffs out a tiny laugh.

“I tried to get it out,” he says. But I didn’t manage it. I didn’t manage to stop him delving into your chest cavity and extracting your heart. I didn’t manage to stop them from stealing your heart, Scully. Naciamento and Padgett.

She tucks her chin to her chest and sniffs. “Two-thirds of a cup of hydrogen peroxide, two-thirds of a cup of soap flakes, six tablespoons of baking soda and two cups of warm water. My mother’s recipe for cleaning success. And it’s gentle too.” Her eyes are wet but she doesn’t fully cry. She simply combines the ingredients and reloads the machine.

They sit watching the suds climb the glass in multiplying bubbles then burst and sink back down, over and over, until the blood is gone and the laundry is clean.


End file.
